That’s all I got.
Dean stills his movements when his hand reaches between my legs, letting out a groan. “No underwear?”
I shoot him a naughty grin that has him kicking off his shoes, yanking his coat off, and diving back into me. I try to tug him towards the couch, but he picks me up instead, carrying me down the hall to my bedroom.
“I want to make love to you in your bed.”
I kiss him as we shuffle into the room, landing clumsily on the mattress, our mouths still fused. We only break apart to discard more clothes, until the only thing between us is my gold locket. Dean fingers it for a moment, his eyes drifting up to mine as he hovers over me, a tenderness seeping in. I sift my fingers through his hair, my touch soft and delicate. “Thank you for bringing it back to me,” I say, rising up to press a sweet kiss against his lips.
Dean kisses my nose, then my forehead, his arms resting on each side of me. He pulls my gaze to his, holding it as he says, “You said I didn’t fight for you, but that’s so far from the truth.”
I almost choke on a breath, my wrists linking behind his neck, trying to pull him back to me.
He resists, keeping our eyes locked and stroking his knuckles along my cheek. “Corabelle… that was me fighting for you. That was me fighting for your healing, your joy, your smile, your laughter… your beautiful, broken spirit. I never stopped fighting for you and I never will.”
My heart swells, my eyes water with tears, and my soul surges with absolute love. A small cry passes through my lips and he catches it with a kiss. We lose ourselves in each other, in the moment, in the time lost—in the possibility of a real future. And when he pushes inside me, his mouth raining kisses along my face, my neck, my breasts… it’s different.
He’s slow and steady. I don’t look away. Our bodies move together with a perfect certainty. There are no desperate touches or fear-infused kisses, and we aren’t clinging to each other, holding on tight to the idea of something more.
We just are.
And maybe we always have been.
Dean holds me that night in steadfast arms, our bodies exquisitely entangled, relaxed and content. He holds me like a lover. Like my own, personal defender.
Like my savior.
After all, he saved me from a serial killer.
He saved me from an overdose.
He saved me from myself.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Corabelle.
A single sunbeam peeks through her lace drapes, lighting up the golden glints in her hair. She’s still asleep, as peaceful as I’ve ever seen her, and my heart constricts with each quiet breath. I’m trying not to be a total creep and stare at her, but I’m hypnotized by the rise and fall of her chest, her slightly parted lips, and the way her eyelashes flutter as she dreams.
I’m painfully in love with this woman and I’ll be damned if I don’t soak up every fleeting moment with her while I’m here.
Her hands are tucked beneath her cheek and I swear there’s a tiny smile creasing her mouth. I can’t help myself—I lean in, placing a soft kiss against the corner of her lips. Cora stirs, nuzzling into her hands, her hair dipping down across her face as she moves. I brush it aside with my fingers, my touch lingering until her eyes blink open.
It takes a minute, but then her smile brightens as recognition and relief fill her eyes. “Hi,” she whispers, her voice cracked and sleepy.
“Hi.” Fuck, I could get used to this—waking up every morning to her drowsy, love-laced stare and rosy cheeks. “What were you dreaming about? You were smiling.”
Cora stretches out her arms, the bedsheet falling further down her hip and catching my attention. “Shakespeare.”
I squint at her. “Hmm. Is that code for all the new ways I used my tongue last night?”
She blushes, burying her face into the pillow with a laugh. I pull her to me until her nose is pressed to the top of my chest, her head right beneath my chin. Then I whisper against her hair, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Cora lifts her head with a grin. “You know Shakespeare?”
“We’ve never met. But I do know a sexy English teacher who often quotes him.”
Her smile widens and she pecks a kiss to my chin. “I always used to think you were dumb, you know.”
I laugh as my hand trails down her arm and lands on her hipbone. “Yeah. You would get so fired up when I’d pretend not to know something. It was cute as hell.”
“You were the worst.”
“Incorrigible.”
Cora giggles as she wraps her leg around my thigh, her eyes twinkling. “We should make love. Then we should take the dogs for a long walk, come home and cook breakfast, and crawl back under the covers until you have to drive home.”
All of that sounds fucking fantastic—minus the last bit. The thought of heading back to Bloomington to my eerily quiet one-bedroom apartment all alone, reeking of Cora Lawson, seems unfathomable. But I realize there’s no way around it right now. And I sure as hell don’t regret the choice I made eight months ago to accept the job transfer, uproot my life, and put distance between me and the woman who desperately needed it.
It was hard.
It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It was harder than everything we went through during those fateful twenty days in a madman’s basement, because it was a choice. It was my choice. And I had the power to say ‘fuck it’ and be weak and stay, and it would have been so damn easy to do that. I wanted to do that.
But the only thing I wanted more was to see her smile.
I wanted to see her glowing and thriving and truly living her life.
I wanted to see her just like this, just like she is right now, happy and healing and learning to love herself again.
So, it’s all been worth it—I just don’t know where the hell we go from here.
I swallow, trying not to let the unknowns spoil this blissful morning after. The last time we woke up together ended up being the worst day of my life.
I reach for her arm that’s entangled around my neck and tug it down, turning it palm-side up. I gaze at the small tattoo inscribed onto her wrist, brushing my thumb over the heartbeat symbol. Her skin is soft and lightly puckered from the tiny scars beneath the design, a permanent reminder of her past. I massage my thumb over her pulse point in the same way I used to do when my touch was the only solace I could give her.
Cora inhales a quick breath, her eyes closing as she lets the feelings sweep through her. The memories. The flashbacks. The thoughts and sensations. When her eyes open, hazy and glossed over, I press my lips to her wrist, sprinkling soft kisses along her vein.
She lets out a sigh of contentment and says, “I love you.”
I’ve replayed those three words over and over in my mind for eight, torturous months, wondering if I’d ever hear them again.
Nothing beats the real fucking thing.
I squeeze her to me, inhaling her daffodil hair and skin made of citrus, still lingering with remnants of our lovemaking. “I love you so damn much, Corabelle. I’ve thought about you every single day since I left, craving your kiss, your touch, the smell of your hair. You never left my mind. I drove myself crazy not knowing if you were really okay, or wondering if you’d moved on with someone else. It’s been hell.” I kiss her forehead, hesitating before I pull back. “But seeing the light in your eyes again is everything. And even if you had moved on and found happiness with some other guy… it would have fucking sucked, but it still would have been worth it to see you like this.”